


Nothing - plus the sex

by Klybneeka



Category: Prisoners (2013)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bathrooms, Bathtubs, British Character, Detective, Detective Loki - Freeform, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Jake Gyllenhaal - Freeform, Love, Naked Male Clothed Female, Prisoners, Prostitution, Relationship(s), Rough Sex, Sad, Sadness, Sex, Submission, Submissive Character, david loki - Freeform, david wayne loki - Freeform, naked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klybneeka/pseuds/Klybneeka
Summary: x Detective David Loki/Original Female Character xSpoiler Alert!>Bob, Bob, Bob!< D:She decided to run him a bath before she'd even known he needed one.
Relationships: Detective Loki (Prisoners)/Original Character(s), Detective Loki (Prisoners)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	Nothing - plus the sex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MayLaNee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayLaNee/gifts).



She decided to run him a bath before she'd known he needed one.

Sometimes, she just had this _feeling_ when it came to Loki. They never spoke much; in fact most of their - _whatever they had_ \- was spent in silence or with sex. There wasn't much in between. They'd either spend hours snuggled up on the sofa, quietly watching trash TV, or they'd have rough sex. They'd never discussed desires or needs when it came to that; instead they'd only confide in screams and primeval growls.

Which is also how they made post-coital decisions such as where to order dinner from.

The way they communicated was simply _different_.

Despite prevalent silence, though, a form of intimate trust had gradually grown between them. Last Christmas, Loki had surprised her with a set of keys to his apartment. Cassandra dropped by occasionally to wait for him to return from work.

They weren't partners of course. Nor were they proper lovers or friends with benefits. They were essentially _nothing - plus the sex_.

She heard keys violently being pushed into the lock. Her intuition, it appeared, had not failed her.

It wasn't that Loki was a cheerful person to begin with. Anger and resentment were part of his natural condition. Today, however, was different.

The keys clanked into the hideous glass bowl on the hall cupboard. When they made eye contact, he gave an acknowledging nod as he hang up his long, dark raincoat.

She studied his face for a second.

He was _tense_.

She could tell by the amount of eye twitches and the stiff posture.

“Hello handsome,” she purred softly, making sure to not make any sudden movements.

She slowly came closer and was relieved to find herself being pulled into a hug.

His hand ran through her long curls, while the other made its way down to more intimate regions. When he found her bottom, he squeezed it roughly.

Rubbing her head playfully against his collarbone, she took in the smell of fresh rain and worn off aftershave.

“Rough day?”, she asked, placing a little peck on his chin. It wasn't the kind of question that required an answer.

He mumbled something unintelligible and firmly grabbed her by the waist. She felt the greed in the gesture but shook her head.

“Not so fast...” She disentangled herself and she gave him that cheeky little grin she knew he _loved_. “I know what you want, big boy. But...” She beckoned him with her index finger. “I've run you a bath and -”

She was interrupted by a sigh. Patience had never been his strongest suit.

She insisted: “Trust me, you will love it!”

The good thing about Loki was: he'd express dissatisfaction in _some way_ but never truly dared argue with her. He knew better than to object.

Which is why he obediently followed her into the bathroom.

„It's still hot,“ he remarked dryly after having tested the water with a finger.

„That's one sharp observation, Detective.“ Shaking her head, she began to undress him. „Now... let's see...kick off your shoes, mister.” He did as he was told, while she began to unbutton the light blue shirt, which he deemed decent enough for a detective.

Endless symbolism adorned his body. A potpourri of religious signs and icons stretched from his collarbone down to his chest and abdomen. The tattoos lay so gravely on his skin that, oftentimes, it seemed that they must have crawled up from deep within; that they were in fact surfaced expressions of the pain he had gone through. Other people leaked tears when they were sad, maybe this was his way of crying.

She fiddled with his belt and his breathing became heavier. As she swiftly undid the button of his trousers, she could feel his eyes upon her.

She dropped down on her knees and briefly looked up at him before she took the zipper between her teeth and pulled it down. A dark growl came from above. He was growing impatient again.

Her hands reached for a side each and hooked into his trousers as well as his underwear. Then she pulled them both down.

Of course she took a second or two to properly admire his manhood, which she loved.

And apparently, his semi-hard dick loved her.

It would have to wait though.

She helped him out of the trousers and in an almost submissive gesture, even took off his socks. Leaving a trail of tiny, innocent pecks all over his body, she surfaced again. “Get in,” she commanded and gave him a smack on his arse.

He glared at her but obeyed.

He got in and Cassandra was surprised by how quickly his tension faded. Had the hot water really cooled his temper? Leaning back, he exhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

She sat down beside the tub, put her arms on the edge and rested her head on them.

And so they lingered.

***

“It's cold now,” he said.

She didn't know how long they'd been like this; maybe half an hour?

The foam was almost gone, and a heavy haze had spread in the room and thickened the air.

She looked up, slightly disoriented.

He looked lost.

“Well, then...” She stood up and offered him a hand. Her eyes scanned the room for a bathrobe. Then again, she pondered, Loki wasn't the type to own a bathrobe. It was a miracle that the man had towels.

A sudden jolt pulled her down. With a big splash and an even bigger yelp, she landed on his lap, her legs dangling over the edge.

Her head shot angrily to the side in order to look at him. He quietly chuckled.

“What the fuck, mate?” She slapped him on the shoulder.

He pulled her closer into his wet embrace and nudged his nose against hers.

“You wanted this,” he growled impishly. She wanted to protest but he muted it with a kiss on her mouth. She couldn't be angry at him. Of course she couldn't be.

She broke away only to see that the boyish grin had left his face again. Should she ask what was going on? Were they even meant for that kind of conversation? After all, Loki and her functioned best when their only means of communication were slaps on her face and scratches on his back.

She cleared her throat and awkwardly blew a curl out of her face. Should she...?

“What's wrong?” It was a shy whisper. Asking so specifically somehow seemed... _strange_?

He lowered his gaze, lips tightly pressed together and Cassandra felt a pang of regret. She shouldn't have asked.

They weren't meant for talking.

To her surprise though, he answered.

“A man killed himself during investigation today,” he began and looked up at her again. “It was my fault.”

“He got hold on one of my guns after I went off on him,” he elaborated, saving her from having to ask.

Nodding and unsure of how to respond, Cassandra ran her hand through his hair. She looked at the mess this man was. The black from the bags under his eyes was reflected by the ink under his skin, mapping out the part of his soul he'd chosen to wear on the outside, a monochrome colourblindness test she'd never pass.

“You're bit of a violent lad, aren't you?” It wasn't an accusation.

“You're bit of a British bitch,” he countered calmly and cupped is hand over the hers.

“I am sorry,” Cassandra started with a sigh, “I'm just thinking...don't think it's your fault. I mean technically: - yes, _probably_.” She knitted her brow, mulling it over. “It's not your fault that someone would feel the need to go this far...even when you go off on them. Then again...”

Thoughtfully she bit her lip and hesitantly withdrew her hand from his. “I am just a prostitute. What would I know.”

She averted her gaze and fixed her eyes onto her skirt that was gently bobbing in the water.

Another silence slid between them and Cassandra felt stupid. Not for being a prostitute, no. Couldn't she have thought of more comforting words than “ _technically – yes, probably_ ” and “ _I am just a prostitute_?”. Abashedly she decided that she preferred silence. _By miles_.

“You're more than that.”

From the corner of her eyes, she caught another twitch of his. But there was also something else.

Her head turned again to face him and to her surprise, she found him smiling.

“I'm not good at comforting others,” she murmured apologetically, tempted to look away again.

“I _know_ and I wasn't looking for that.”

“Then why tell me?”

“I just wanted to see you struggle.”

She shook her head and smiled. “Seriously though, are you okay?”, she asked, while casually taking off her shirt. The wet stickiness had become uncomfortable. She wrung it out over his head.

Twitching eyes accepted the sudden downpour as he waited patiently for it to be over. His hair slid out of order, reaching just down to his cheeks.

He took the opportunity to _not respond_.

“Hey...I mean it, okay?”, she insisted, sounding far more chiding than intended. “We could...also just talk if that's something you'd want...” The last words were caught up in a mumble when she realised how soppy she sounded. She unhooked her bra, hoping that the sight of her breasts would shift his focus.

***

They fell back into the old pattern. After a few hungry kisses and touches, they ended up in bed, resorting to wordless, brutish sex.

Her pleading moans were eagerly met with hard and violent thrusts, forcing her body to arch and flinch in an act of self-preservation.

Whenever she tried to counteract with bites and scratches, she was reprimanded with slaps in her face or on her breasts. He needed her just like that: helpless and inferior, and knowing that she, too, needed it like that.

He collapsed on top of her with a quiet scream, releasing his violent energy inside of her with a final thrust.

To Cassandra's surprise, David lingered on her for a while. He usually turned away from her after sex, only rarely displaying further affection. But now he had his head deeply buried in her neck, occasionally nuzzling her earlobe and placing soft kisses on her skin. Some moisture trickled away in her hair.

He was shaking, which was also odd.

She turned her head to see his face.

He was crying.

**Author's Note:**

> <3 Many thanks to my best friend MayLaNee (find her: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayLaNee) for betareading and being the absolute talent she is! <3 I love you, girl!


End file.
